The Gardener's page

The Gardner walks through the markets like a blind man in a brothel. Riyoko's excitement almost makes him lament his pauperhood, but not quite.

He was rich once. Rich as a filthy Fated factotum. But he cared little for gold and these days he could count his savings with a few of his fingers to spare. But Suun made it a point to send him along with Riyoko, perhaps to carry heavy things that catch her whim. Perhaps to keep an eye on the two newcomers the old man has taken an interest in.

Kobash shrugs. "Good point. Make sure you tell it to the next berk before you stab him with a fistful of rust."

With the amount of magic Breeze had tossed around in the tournament, the Gardener wasn't sure the human couldn't actually do it. And the talk of his old name had reminded him of an old adage the Dustmen had stolen from the Doomguard before there were tieflings.

Dust to dust.

The Gardener lets out a breath before answering. "Time changes everything. A sword reduced to a pile of rust is no longer a sword."

The Gardener considered the question of his name. He hadn't used it in a long time, so long that it hardly felt like it belonged to him anymore. If it weren't for all the scars, he imagined few would recognize the docile old orc by it now.

"My name is Kobash, though everyone here just calls me the Gardener."

The Gardener listens to Suun's long-winded explanation of the planar paper-weight and wonders if perhaps some Power created the damned sphere just to toy with mortals. About the only thing of interest in the whole discussion was a small note Suun made at the end that hinted at something inside the artifact.

"If there is something inside, " He finds himself saying. "Then you have two options. Sit and wait long enough and it will corrode and fall apart. Or you could just break it open."

The Gardener stand with Riyoko, arms crossed, doing a pretty good job of looking unimpressed.

"Mmm." He nods.

Bluff: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (18) - 2 = 16

The Gardener had been glaring in the direction of the Eladrin, his knuckles cracking within clenched fists, when he was interrupted by Aurin's nudge. He looks down at the spot where the aasimar touched him, then up to the human, Breeze, still somehow in the match.

Magic. No matter how skilled the wizard, an axe in the head will seriously cramp their style.

The Gardener looks at the eladrin with a blank stare. It's a practiced expression, as most look upon half-orcs as little more then dumb half-breeds. Beneath the stare an old part of his past simmers.

I crap bigger then you...

"Someone as robust as you surely could do more than watch?", a pompous and confident voice addresses you.

Though tempted to throw the pompous fool into the arena, the Gardener stares daggers at him and mutters, "Things aren't always as they seem."

"Hmm." The Gardener replies to Riyoko. It's not quite an agreement, but it isn't dissent either. "They might not be the berks I thought there were."

To the surging crowd he offers a glare and low growl, protecting his personal space through intimidation.

Intimidate: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (11) + 15 = 26

The Gardener watches the tournament with a thousand yard stare. For one who has survived the Arena, such theater holds little interest to him. His mind keeps turning back to the day before, and the meeting with Suun.

Was it a coincidence that the old man summoned him for that meeting?

He suddenly catches sight of the odd man who arrived with the blue-skinned celestial-spawn. He's seen magic used in combat, and he is almost impressed with the clever application used by him against his opponent. When the man performs a second clever trick of spellcraft he has to admit that at least one of them seems capable.

The Gardener stands quiet, watching Suun stare at the newcomers, wondering not for the first time if the old Master could read minds.

Though he doesn't show it, The Gardener is thankful for Suun's timely rescue. Women were a mystery to him, and experience had shown it was dangerous to get close to them. Riyoko's smile may have been genuine, or it may have her way to manipulate him, but it didn't matter.

Love. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

The second interruption by Suun's servant was unexpected, but that was not the reason that The Gardener's eyes narrowed.

A Guvner.

He didn't like rules-lawyers from the Fraternity of Order. Their laws, and the loopholes in them, were an affront to his own philosophy.

He observes quietly from a few steps behind Suun, his scarred arms crossed over his big chest, black eyes staring at the blue-skinned man as he makes his introduction. Polite and courteous, he guesses him to be the offending Guvner.

His gaze shifts, passing over the irrelevant guide to the second man gaping around at the festival. He doesn't know what to make of him, and that makes him suspicious.

The Gardener continues his work, giving Riyoko only a minimal reply.

"I'll stand. Over there." He gestures vaguely off to the side, as if the actual spot matters not at all to him.

The Gardener continues pulling up weeds for a few silent moments before stopping to survey his work. In that brief respite he half-turns to Suun and gives a slow nod of acceptance.

It could have been a nod of thanks for a compliment of his work, or a sign of interest in the tournament, but it was neither. It served as a reply that could serve any subject, but was intended only for one. Suun needed thirteen bodies, and The Gardener had one to spare.

Knee deep in weeds, The Gardener pays no heed to Master Suun's approach. His large fist slowly pulls long reeds free from a rose plant gripped firmly in his other. Sharp thorns press into his palm, but the scar tissue is too tough for them to draw blood.

He wasn't being intentionally rude, and he wasn't ignoring the Master. Before coming to this place he was a man of few words. A few too much at times, which has given him cause to speak even fewer.

Early in his employment as a keeper for the grounds he had let Suun wait for nearly half an hour before offering him advice. "The plants need my eyes and touch. They don't often speak, these less than others, and rarely in a way anyone would need ears to understand. Say what you came to say, Master Suun. I'll hear you."